


Know Thy Enemy

by Kaiosea



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Ambiguous Morality, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual Sex, Dirty Talk, Hate Sex, M/M, Sex, Violent Sex, maybe light bloodplay, not joking about the dirty talk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-27
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 12:18:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8667370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiosea/pseuds/Kaiosea
Summary: “I like that you’re trying to kill me,” Izaya said. “It’ll make things more interesting while we fuck.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> I definitely wrote 6k of Durarara!! fic last winter that needs at least 15k more to be done, but I haven't had motivation to write in months and think that this works somewhat okay as a standalone, but if it reads like a snippet from something larger.... that's because it was.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to ouroboros for the beta!

“Why Shizu-chan, if I were the only person trying to kill you, wouldn’t the plots have stopped by now?” 

 

Shizuo looked at Izaya’s neck, soft-skinned with a slight Adam’s apple, and wanted to wring it. The V of his shirt framed smooth collarbones. 

 

“Where do you get off saying shit like that?” Shizuo challenged, and looked around. Somehow, everyone must have left the room except the two of them, leaving him ample space to face off against Izaya. He had thought they were getting along, brought together by a common goal, but it was too late; his temper was flaring now and they had to fight. 

 

Izaya said, “You know I only speak the truth.” He looked in prime fighting form as well, the shape of his body long and lithe underneath his coat. 

 

Not for long: he took off his coat in one smooth motion, dumping it ungraciously on the floor. It was too warm have donned it in the first place. His shirt stuck to his chest, and his pants stuck to his legs. It was an overwhelming vision, and Shizuo was already seeing red. 

 

Shizuo said, “I know you’re up to something, flea, and when I find out… I’m gonna kill you.” 

 

“I’d expect nothing less.” The surprisingly bloodless statement threw Shizuo off-guard. 

 

“Huh?”

 

“I like that you’re trying to kill me,” Izaya said. “It’ll make things more interesting while we fuck.” 

 

Shizuo gaped and grabbed the nearest thing he could find, lobbing it at Izaya’s face. Izaya dodged the poorly thrown projectile, a lamp that shattered in the corner of the kitchen. 

 

“When we—when we—what’d you say?” Shizuo couldn’t believe what he’d heard. Izaya never used language like that, not in the entire torturous time he’d known him. He must have misheard. 

 

Izaya stepped closer to Shizuo. “We’re going to fuck.” 

 

This time the object that was deployed was a microwave, sailing across the room to hit the couch. Shizuo hadn’t noticed himself ripping it away from the wall with the cords still attached, but there it was. Everything about it failed to shatter. “We’re fucking not,” he said. 

 

Izaya’s face looked strange, his eyes singularly concentrated on Shizuo’s face. With his lips parted, it made him look hungry. 

 

Shizuo picked up the stove, barely a weight upon his arms, only to drop it accidentally when he felt hot breath ghosting over the back of his neck. 

 

“Need a hand?” Izaya’s voice was silky. Shizuo turned his neck a few degrees, his skin itching. Izaya’s clothes looked soft and his hair was out of place, messy from dexterously dodging household objects. 

 

Shizuo never needed a hand; he never thought of asking. He swallowed.

 

If Izaya had looked hungry before, now he was starving. 

 

Shizuo slammed Izaya against the wall, too easily, annoyingly. Shizuo never liked people who didn’t fight back, and he’d never counted Izaya among them.

 

“That’s a good start for now,” Izaya enunciated, as if his cheek weren’t smashed flat to the wall. “Or did you want me to start begging for it like a little slut?” 

 

Shizuo grabbed his shoulders and growled. He always forgot that Izaya fought back with more than fists, playing games with words, too. 

 

Izaya managed to tilt his head over his shoulder. “If that’s what you want, I’ll do it. I can be anyone you want.” 

 

It was too much talking, and Shizuo told him as much, grunting in his ear. 

 

Izaya, predictably, talked more. “I can be submissive, horny, or inexperienced,” he said, changing his expression to fit some of the descriptors. He fluttered his lashes, like wisps of silk. “Even young and a little unwilling? I’d add brutish and aggressive, but you seem like you have that covered pretty well.” 

 

Too much talking. Shizuo fed his fingers through Izaya’s hair and yanked, hard. “Shut up,” he said. “Just shut up.” 

 

“You love my backtalk,” Izaya said, and moaned theatrically. “Wouldn’t you like to put this mouthy brat in his place. What are you waiting for?” 

 

Shizuo pulled harder. Izaya’s silky hair must have been stronger than it looked; no strands had come loose yet. He cursed himself, knowing that Izaya had gotten to him—just like he always did. Izaya let out another long groan and thrust his hips back. Shizuo snarled. Rage had built up behind his eyes, hot and full, and he snapped. 

 

He ripped Izaya’s pants down his legs, sending a button clicking as it bounced off a wood cabinet, and he ran his teeth along the back of his neck. The pressure released from behind his eyes. 

 

Sex was not something that came naturally to Shizuo Heiwajima. Amongst all the muscles he’d torn in his body in his lifetime—actually, he’d torn all the muscles and broken all the bones in his body. Around the age of thirteen was when his first penile fracture happened, along with a sprained wrist. 

 

The second time he injured his dick was also the first time he had sex. He went too rough: not for his partner but for himself, bending his dick at an impossible angle that led to an orgasm for them and a sprain for himself. Not that he noticed at the time, exactly—He was too busy achieving the elusive mutual orgasm, and it wasn’t until his partner pointed at him afterwards, gasping, that he became aware of his strangely bent dick, covered in fluid and afterglow as he was. Maybe it was formative. 

 

After that, Shizuo sought out partners who liked it rough and a little angry. But sex was an infrequent thing for him, having such specific requirements for fuckbuddies—if people weren’t turned off, others took off running when they recognized him as that Shizuo Heiwajima, the inhuman monster of Ikebukuro. He didn’t care about the title one way or another. All that mattered was that he wasn’t getting laid as often as he felt the urge. 

 

Sex was another way to express emotion. It just so happened that for him, flights of strong emotion tended to be anger. In his fantasies, he had an outlet for his anger, an imagined person who took all his anger from him, siphoning it off into their body, and still begging for more. After orgasm, he’d notice that his anger was slower to return, his strength diminished. Or that he had no cause to use it. He couldn’t imagine his physical power really ever flagged, so maybe he was simply out of anger. 

 

The moments after he came were his favorite. 

 

Sex with Izaya Orihara fulfilled all of his ideal criteria for a sex partner, except that it was _Izaya Orihara_. Holy fuck he must be delusional to let his dick anywhere near that scumbag even if his ass was tight and dripping with lube as Shizuo fingered him open, even if his mouth opened into a pretension of being overwhelmed, even if Izaya deserved what he was getting, his weight placed on all fours on the hard floor. 

 

Shizuo pulled the soft strands of Izaya’s hair and stuck the tip of his cock just inside Izaya’s ass, sliding in slowly. “If you’re gonna talk, beg for it.” 

 

Immediately, Izaya began a chorus of gratuitous moans and dirty talk, inching down with every filthy expletive. “There, Shizu-chan, that’s the spot, fuck me. Fuck me harder, you monster, fuck me like you know I deserve, rough and dirty, like I’m only a slut for you. Fuck that ass,” he said, and clamped down on Shizuo almost painfully hard, setting the standard and pace immediately. 

 

Shizuo’s breath came quickly and he started to move with passion, blood heated in response to Izaya’s brazen demands. Izaya continued to talk like his life depended on it, spitting ridiculous obscenities and dirty talk that eventually became more annoying than hot. Shizuo reached a hand around Izaya’s mouth, trying to muffle some of the aggravating talk. 

 

Izaya bit him. Shizuo felt it like a scratch, then he moved his hand back and saw blood streaking over his palm. Without thinking he smeared it over Izaya’s face, painting him in red. It was only fitting for someone who had spilled so much blood over the streets of Ikebukuro for so many years: Shizuo’s friends, his brother, his city. His home. The bee-sting on his palm and the memories of Izaya’s disgusting personality made Shizuo fuck him even harder, throw his weight into every thrust, put his hands around Izaya’s waist and shove him onto his dick. 

 

Izaya responded positively to brutality, smirking at Shizuo over his shoulder. He pushed himself up from his elbows to his wrists, raising himself and arching his back so his ass was held up higher in the air like a sacrifice. From this angle Shizuo could see Izaya’s cock straining, leaking, the head tapping the floor, connecting a spiderweb of translucent fluid. 

 

He snarled and reached a hand to feel Izaya’s cock, hot and heavy in his palm, and began to stroke in time with his thrusts, never slowing the pace. Izaya moaned, “Yes, fucking jerk me off,” and Shizuo felt himself close. 

 

“Come,” he said. “Do it, slut, all over my hand,” and Izaya cried out and hot liquid dripped over Shizuo’s knuckles and fingertips. 

 

Shizuo continued fucking him at the same brutal pace, relishing the tightness around his cock. 

 

“Inside me,” Izaya urged. 

 

Shizuo could hear his composure starting to return. He hated that—he hated that it felt so good when Izaya began to relax around his dick, finally opening up for him. “God,” he said. “Coming—” And he pumped Izaya full, looking at his obnoxious grinning face the whole time, getting off on it. 

 

If Izaya was another person, Shizuo might have stayed stuck to him for a little longer, basking in the afterglow he normally loved, but he knew that Izaya wasn’t the kind of guy you left your dick in for longer than necessary. 

 

“Humans,” Izaya said, rolling onto his back unceremoniously. “You all cry out for some god during sex. As if gods want to hear your ugly sounds of orgasm.” 

 

Shizuo blinked, shifting into a sitting position. He needed to shower. After orgasm, his anger lay temporarily at bay, and so he only said, “You’re still a human.” 

 

“Well, you’re messy,” Izaya said, sounding out of breath. He narrowed his eyes. “And how predictable is that.” 

 

“Don’t give me that shit. You didn’t predict all of this.” 

 

Izaya looked at his hand, his waist, and his cock, all with interest. With a flash of guilt, Shizuo suddenly realized why he was looking at them: they were stained with blood. Shizuo’s blood, nonetheless, but it looked morbid all the same. 

 

“You really did a number on me,” Izaya said. He smiled and stretched, showing off. 

 

Blood was something that made them all human. In that vein, Shizuo thought it should have meant more to him when it was spilled.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading and please leave a comment on your way out!


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